If the World Historian Had Really Wanted to Win
“Give it up,” the heroes jeer, glaring at the cloaked man, but he chuckles.
“I can make you suffer in unimaginable ways,” he growled.
Tom snorted, “oh yeah?”
The Historian grinned. “For you, Champion of the Balanced, the vilest poison and taste, as well as texture, will touch everything you consume: ketchup.”
Jordan gagged.
“For you, Huntress, you can never utter anything related to the word “booty” or that same word.“
Sonja began to sob.
“For you, Cursed Champion,” Tom raised an eyebrow, “you can never rate a restaurant again.”
Tom fainted in dead shock.
“And last, but hardly least, you…you will suffer…year round premature Christmas celebrations,” the Historian declared, with a crooked finger towards Tucker.
Tucker dropped to his knees, “Mianite, take me now!”
Mot exchanged glances with Martha before muttering, “some heroes.”
